


fucking hell this dude's a beast

by technorat



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Laundry, M/M, Millicent the cat - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past minor character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 10:37:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18150767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/technorat/pseuds/technorat
Summary: Hux hates his obnoxious neighbor, the one that breaks things, is noisy at unreasonable hours, and dares to look as good as he does.





	fucking hell this dude's a beast

**Author's Note:**

> warnings applicable for this chapter: some cursing, a minor character's medical scare (referenced but not put to great detail), Hux's narration implies that his father wasn't great, Hux's narration also references his mother's death
> 
> special thanks to [invxdxrs](https://twitter.com/invxdxrs) for letting me bounce ideas!
> 
> you can find me [here](http://gaygalaxyguy.tumblr.com) on tumblr and you can find me [here](https://twitter.com/gay_galaxy_guy) on twitter.

There are only so many washing machines in the apartment. And that number is three. There’s one less dryer though, the third one giving out last month. No one had bothered to fix it yet.

It’s these little things which explain how he rents the apartment for so cheap.

Hux waits for the elevator, his little laundry cart at his side, laundry in a drawstring bag. It’s a dingy little thing, paint scraped off in places to reveal the metal. An elderly woman had given it to him when she had moved out to live with family. It’s hard to be grateful for the thing, with how many years she’d stopped him at the mailboxes to ask about his abysmal love life.

The door opens and he steps in. It’s one of the few times the elevator does not already have another occupant. Hux presses the button for the basement and thanks whatever force allowed this one peaceful moment.

“Hold the door!”

Hux suppresses a groan, pressing the close door button several times. Ultimately, it’s useless, like just about every other decision he’s made in his life.

The occupant of 3B looks at him funny. Or, Hux things, it may have just been his face.

Kylo Ren—which cannot be the name his mother gave him when she pushed him out into this world, Hux refuses to believe that bullshit—has an Ikea bag slung on a shoulder. Paint covered clothes air their ugly heads.

“You know,” Hux says dryly, “I’m certain that the remnants of your oil paints will end up evening out the washer to dryer ratio, if you don’t decide to thrash one yourself.”

Kylo snorts. He rolls his (uncomfortably, distractingly broad) shoulders. “Look, you can’t prove it was me.”

Hux rolls his eyes. “That wasn’t exactly a denial.”

The elevator stops, its doors sliding open. The basement is a dingy, half-lit thing. Kylo brushes past him, their shoulders knocking together. Hux rolls his eyes and follows after.

The laundry room is tiny, in one corner of the basement. The electric lights flicker and hum. From the room, the two of them of a lovely view of the garbage and recycling bins.

Kylo is already shoving his dirty laundry into the washer closest to the wall.

Hux leaves a machine between them, keeping his distance. Once he’s packed his laundry and swiped his card, he readies the detergent and softener. The smell of lavender—not the real stuff, something artificial and overly strong—chokes the air of the tiny laundry room.

Kylo leans over and takes the bottle of softener out of Hux’s grip.

Hux stutters, ears going hot. “Excuse you. One generally _asks_ for permission before taking what they want.”

“Hey,” says Kylo, brows raised towards his hairline. “Can I borrow some softener?” He pours the softener into the machine without even measuring out an exact amount. He  _feels_ it, like he  _feels_ the ridiculous art he does.

Hux stares at him wordlessly. He doesn’t even snipe at Kylo’s phrasing. _As if_ he’ll return the liquid he uses. He wheels his cart to the only table within the laundry room and parks it there, detergent sitting lonely at the bottom and tries not to think about what events in his life have led to this.

“Thanks,” Kylo says, returning it.

There is one seat in the laundry room. White, plastic, uncomfortably hard. Kylo doesn’t take it, so Hux does. He crosses his legs and stares up at the television, turned to some sports game. It’s better than staring at Kylo. Kylo whose shirt is too tight, university logo stretched obscenely over his tits.

As if the very thought had offended him, Kylo seats himself on the table, legs spread obscenely, making more of a scene of himself.

“Soon we’ll have no tables to fold our clothes on,” Hux says lightly.

“You still fold your clothes?” Kylo replies, which is quite possibly the most worrisome response an adult man could have said in the situation.

Hux merely sighs. He should’ve expected an answer of that sort from him.

“Do you even like sports?” Kylo presses.

“Of course not,” Hux snorts. Some of the men were quite nice to look at, with their white, tight pants and all, but he certainly not tell his almost assuredly straight neighbor that.

“Why don’t you change the channel?”

“The remote’s been missing for weeks.”

“Can’t you press something on the box?” Kylo asks, as if Hux were too lazy to get up and try that at least once.

“Be my guest,” Hux says instead.

Kylo pushes himself off the table, the legs of it scraping noisy against tile. He tilts his head, staring at the modern cable box attached to the absolutely ancient tv. Hux has done the same, taken in its smoothness and lack of visible buttons. It doesn’t take too long before Kylo also gives up.

“Guess football it is,” Kylo mumbles.

“Do you not like football?” Hux says, wrinkling his nose. Kylo looks like the type of boy that had been quarterback. He could easily imagine Kylo Ren with those shoulderpads and all. He, however, could not imagine Kylo with short hair.

Would an American high school allow such long hair? Hux’s father would certainly not abide it, if he were still around.

Then again, maybe that’s for the best.

Kylo frowns, tilting his head down. “Well, not really,” he offers, which also isn’t really an answer.

They pass the rest of the wash cycle in silence.

*

The next week at the very same time, Hux sees Kylo Ren again. Kylo wears a tank top that has perhaps seen better days. The armholes droop miserably, around his awfully muscular arms. When he raises a hand in greeting, a nipple escapes to say hello too. It's scandalous and Hux looks away.

It would have made him jealous, Kylo's overall build and appearance—if he were still fourteen and attending his father’s academy. Made him feel like a lesser man.

His father would have certainly taunted him enough, to coat his early crushes with an overwhelming sense of shame.

Though, there’s no sense of attraction towards Kylo, beyond the obvious physical. Kylo Ren is obnoxious and loud and everything Hux himself could not be.

(And, most glaringly of all, Kylo Ren is _successful_ , doing what he loves, while Hux scrapes along as an adjunct professor of a field his father pushed him towards.)

Kylo Ren kicks the drier. “Shit,” he spits, under his breath. He opens the door and slams it shut, running his card through the slot again. “Fuck!” He kicks it again.

Hux can feel the rattle of the machine. He shudders and hates himself for it.

(A long time ago, he had promised himself that no one would ever treat him like his father did. He could not always stop the lingering reactions, however.)

“What is it?” Hux says sharply, to cover up his momentary weakness.

Kylo hunches over, muttering under his breath. “Stupid piece of shit,” Hux can make out, along with a string of colorful expletives.

“Have you broken it?” Hux asks. Though he had joked about Kylo evening the number of washer and dryers, he hadn’t really thought the man would go through with it. The man really was a beast at times. He clucks his tongue. “What a shame.”

“I haven’t, all right?” Kylo snaps. He stands up straight, slapping his hand against the one folding table. It shakes precariously and, for a moment, Hux worried about the wrinkles unfolded clothes would surely get. Kylo pulls his hair back, away from his reddened face.

Cautiously, Hux approaches, craning his head. Ren had left something on the table, the laundry card. He picks it up and rolls his eyes.

The plastic card has a crease running down the middle, where Kylo had bent it. It stays at a strange angle. Hux bends it the other way, in a foolish attempt at fixing it.

“What are you doing?” Kylo asks, in a low voice. His eyes are wide and, given that he was just trashing machines, Hux should perhaps feel a bit wary of the other man. He can’t though, after taking one look at those oversized ears.

“Try it now,” Hux says instead, handing the card over.

Ren’s fingers brush his own as he snatches the laundry card away. He slides it through the drier’s slot and sure enough the payment is processed. He nods at Hux.

And then he puts the laundry card in his back pocket, which is likely how this mess all started.

Hux rolls his eyes. “Very well.” It isn’t as if he expected gratitude from the other man, but it would’ve been _nice._

_*_

The third time he ends up doing laundry at the same time as Kylo fucking Ren is absolutely, without a doubt, not a coincidence. Hux eyes the other man from the corner of his eyes as he folds his laundry neatly and tucks it in his bag.

Kylo had said he doesn’t fold, doesn’t think it’s worth the effort. Either it had been a lie or he’d finally seen the error of his ways. He shares the tiny table, doing his best (or at least what Hux _thinks_ is his best) to fold the endless array of clothing, in varying shades of black and grey.

Hux does not know when best to leave alone, so he ends up opening his foolish mouth.

“Have you finally seen the light?” he teases.

Kylo looks at him strangely, eyes wide, mouth open, before settling on a fierce scowl. “Why would you phrase it like that?” he says, folding a pair of (black) jeans and slamming them on the tabletop.

He continues folding neatly, ignoring Kylo’s erratic behavior. “Do you have something against that particular phrase?”

“Yes.”

Hux stifles a bark of laughter. “I’d promise to not use it then, but that’d be a lie.”

It’s utterly ridiculous to have such a strong reaction to a phrase as simple as that.

“You know,” Kylo says. “You’re a real bastard.”

Hux lets out a laugh. Kylo didn’t know how on the nail he was with his accusation.

*

It’s like doing his laundry with Kylo once a week suddenly flips a switch. Where Hux had once hardly seen Kylo, now it’s like he can’t escape the other man.

He sees Kylo everywhere he goes—at the mailboxes, crumpling up postcards; at the grocery store, buying three boxes of some overpriced fitness cereal; even at the recycling bins.

“Are you doing this intentionally?” Hux asks him one day, as Hux retrieves his mail and Kylo stares at the announcement board for far too long.

“Doing what?” Kylo doesn’t even look away from the announcements.

Hux sighs and shuts his mailbox, looking up to see what’s gotten Kylo’s attention. “The book exchange? Really? I didn’t know you read.”

“You’d be surprised,” Kylo says wryly. “Would you want to friend me on Goodreads?”

Hux wrinkles his nose. “No… that won’t be necessary.” To tell the truth, he avoids all social media. He’d hate for Maratelle to try to contact him again through an obscure medium and guilt him for abandoning the sorry excuse of a family that he’d had. (He still is embarrassed of the time she found his Grindr profile and tried to reach out there.)

Kylo shrugs his shoulders. “You done yet?”

“Yes.”

They take the elevator together, the space between them too much and too little at the same time. When the elevator stops at the third floor, Kylo steps into Hux’s space, crowding him into a corner. Kylo is just inches from him, unbearably close and unbearably _warm._ A stray strand of hair tickles Hux’s cheek.

“So, laundry later?”

“Yes,” Hux says, the word breaking. “Later.”

Kylo nods, satisfied, and turns away, exiting the elevator.

Hux shakes his head. What was that about?

*

And so the weird schedule continues.

It’s not like they’re friends. (Hux, pointedly, does _not_ have friends. Doesn’t need them. Doesn't even want them. Not even a little.) But he can’t help but enjoy their little talks, however strange and stilted they must sound to any outsider.

So it’s an uncomfortable occurrence when Kylo doesn’t show up on laundry day.

Hux frowns, putting away his clean clothing.

He shouldn’t feel hurt. Doesn’t feel hurt. Their arrangement is unspoken. Kylo may well have done his laundry earlier. Or perhaps he plans to tomorrow morning.

There is no reason for the two of them to do their laundry together. No reason at all.

If Hux pours himself a glass of cheap wine and pulls Millicent into his lap, then, well, no one is around to judge him for it.

*

Kylo is curiously absent from everywhere Hux had previously seen him.

Where before Kylo had been unavoidable, now it seems like he had vanished into thin air.

Hux frowns, petting Millicent slowly. “What happened?” he asks the cat.

She meows, leaning into his touch, but does not offer an answer.

He wonders what he did wrong.

*

It seems only right that the next time Hux sees Kylo it’s at the laundry room.

Kylo looks worse for wear, hair drawn up into a messy bun at the nape of his neck. He doesn’t even look up from where he stares at the tiled floors. He sits, legs spread, on the plastic chair. His weight on it is precarious, the chair creaking in protest.

Hux raises a brow but says nothing. At least, not yet.

It’s much too soon to unpack whatever it is Kylo has going on.

Hux loads up the laundry machine and starts up the cycle. He tucks his cart beneath the folding table. Kylo hasn’t moved yet, just staring down listlessly.

He frowns.

“Kylo,” he says in greeting.

“Hux.” Kylo sighs. He rubs his hands against his eyes. When he looks up, Hux is taken aback by how red Kylo’s eyes are. “Do you think there’s something waiting for us after death?”

“This is… a heavy question to ask on a Saturday night,” Hux says, as gently as he can.

Kylo shakes his head. “Sorry,” he says, deep rumbling voice cracking. “Shit happens.”

“Did… did a loved one pass away?” Hux asks.

(Personally, when Brendol eventually dies, Hux will buy himself a first class flight with whatever money he can scrounge up to finally spit on his grave.)

“My dad.” Kylo tugs his hair free from the bun. “He… he had an accident.” Kylo’s face crumples, turning redder. He hides behind his hands, broad shoulders shaking. “He’s in the hospital.”

“Oh.”

Hux puts a hand on Kylo’s shoulder, squeezing. His words are lost to him.

(He hadn’t been old enough to remember his mother. He had only learned of her passing years after the fact, through a handwritten letter. The letters had been smudged and scraggly and she had begged Brendol to let her see her boy one last time before—)

Kylo presses his forehead against Hux’s stomach, wrapping his arms around Hux’s waist. He sobs, shoulders shaking. “What am I going to do?” Kylo asks. “The last time I saw him, I told him I’d be better off with him dead!”

“Do you want to talk about it or would you rather just be comforted?” Hux asks and immediately winces at the coldness of his words. Sometimes, he hates himself for being so socially inept. He had learned it from the very best.

“Just comfort,” Kylo says, in a small voice, squeezing him tighter. Holding him as if he were some sort of lifeline. "Please."

Hux pets Kylo’s hair and says silly, sweet things that had previously been reserved only for Millicent’s ears. Kylo doesn’t let him go.

*

He thinks they’re getting closer, uncomfortably closer. It had been ages since Hux had hugged another person. (The last person who hugged him had been Poe Dameron, the cheerful resident of 5A, after welcoming Hux to the apartment building with a Tupperware container of cookies. And then he and the resident of 4I had moved out together, to some nicer place that allowed dogs and had a balcony. Traitors, both of them.) It had been ages since he had a real friendly rapport.

It makes his heart skip a beat when he thinks about it, face flushing red. Which is inappropriate. Utterly inappropriate.

But Kylo smiles at him, crooked teeth charming in their own way.

And goes grocery shopping with him, taking one of the bags.

Even watches a movie with him, sprawled onto one half of Hux’s ice blue couch while Hux is tucked into the other end. Millicent sits between them, blinking strangely at Kylo, as if he’d done something to offend her impeccable taste.

So maybe all that growing… friendliness between them is what makes what happens after so very wretched. 

*

Another week passes, and the chore of laundry approaches. Hux has come to look forwards it, even if he would not admit it to anyone.

Kylo sits on the plastic chair, trying to use a universal remote to channel surf. It’s the latest small thing management has added to fix their many problems. So far, it works about half the time.

“Want to watch Vikings and talk about the great historical inaccuracies and sexualization of the time?” Kylo asks, a crooked smile on his face.

“Oh, of course I would,” Hux says, saccharine sweet. Hate watching things with a fellow snarker has vastly improved the hobby. Millicent could never add to his critiques, but Kylo could.

They get just a few minutes into one episode when Kylo’s phone rings, some screeching music playing far too loud.

He stands, alarmed, pulling the phone from his pocket. “Hello?” he says, holding his phone between his ear and shoulder. “No, I’m not doing anything.”

A part of Hux sinks inside, but he doesn’t let it show. Can’t let it show.

Kylo holds up a hand in apology, leaving the laundry room. He paces just outside of it, back and forth, back and forth, sometimes kicking the trash cans. “I know, I know.” A pause. “I love you too.”

Hux looks away, hating himself.

*

Hux does what he does best when hurt. Hide and pet Millicent, while eating copious amounts of whatever ice cream Dollar Tree is selling that week.

Millicent purrs, tucking her head beneath his chin.

“You’re still the only one who cares,” he tells his cat.

Millicent, wisely, says nothing.

*

He changes what time and day he does his laundry. He avoids the KeyFood like a plague and instead commutes to Trader Joe’s. He leaves home earlier, to avoid seeing Ren out on his jog. He even starts taking the stairs instead of the elevator, which is wonderful for his exercise but does little for his mood.

All for vain.

Hux is folding the first of his loads slowly, shoulders drooping. All he wants is to sleep, to curl up in his bed and let his biological clock decide how much sleep he gets but his sheets hadn’t dried yet.

“Hey,” Kylo says.

The hair on Hux’s neck stands up straight. He drops the shirt in his shock.

Kylo is a mess, bloodshot eyes and greasy hair. He looks like he hasn't slept in days. “Did I… Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” Hux says, too quickly.

Kylo approaches, frown marring his face. He’s pale, like he’s caught some sort of illness. His hair frames his face, greasy and tangled. “I—I thought we were getting close.” He reaches out, capturing one of Hux’s hands in two of his own. “Just… tell me. Was I being too forward?”

“Too forward?” Hux blinks rapidly, shaking his head. “What the _fuck_ do you mean by that?”

Kylo’s brows raise. He looks utterly miserable, which fits right in with the miserable background of the laundry.

“I heard your phone call.”

His thumbs are calloused, rough things. Kylo traces meaningless patterns against Hux’s skin. “What about it?”

He pulls his hand away, outraged. “You love someone else! Don’t you think it matters?” Hux hisses. He remembers his father, his mother, Maratelle. What right did Brendol have to break the hearts of two women, simultaneously? “I won’t abide unfaithfulness.”

Kylo blinks, tilting his head curiously. “You think… I’m dating someone?”

Or perhaps already married, Hux does not add on. Because of course he would be. Who wouldn’t attempt to settle down with Kylo if they could?

Whoever they were, they were also probably successful and enjoyed their career. They wouldn’t eat instant ramen for breakfast nearly every day as if they were trying to relive their college experience. They wouldn’t hate waking up in the morning until the beautiful, beautiful calm of Saturday. They wouldn't hate going to work every day to teach a 7:45am class that the students also happened to hate.

Whoever Kylo Ren loved would not be someone like _Hux_.

Kylo laughs, as if hearing Hux’s thoughts.

Hux bristles. He forces himself to unclench his jaw. “What’s so funny?” he says tightly. Perhaps Kylo is a serial cheater, a manwhore, whatever they’re called. Perhaps Kylo does this for his own entertainment.

“It’s just funny you think that. Because… uh, my mom was the one who called me last time,” Kylo says, smiling that unfairly charming crooked grin of his.

“Your mother,” Hux repeats stupidly.

He has never once seen Kylo’s family or heard the man mention them. How often he assumes that everyone also has a shitty family life. How often he doesn’t realize not everyone had a _Brendol_ in their lives.

Kylo’s hands squeeze his one. “Yeah… yeah. After- After the accident, I’ve been trying to keep in touch with family… When I ran off to college, I changed my name and shut everybody out.” He blinks, thick dark lashes obscuring amber eyes for a moment. He is lovely, which is utterly and ridiculously unfair.

“When I was called about my dad… when I visited him in the hospital, he looked so pale and— and so _old_ , laying there, in that hospital bed.” Kylo shakes his head. “My mom looked tiny, like she shrunk over the years. I missed her. I regretted avoiding them for so long. I regretted missing out on so many things.”

Hux shivers under the weight of Kylo’s gaze, hating himself for feeling relieved.

“Just like I’ll regret not getting to confess my fucking _crush_ on you.”

Hux wrinkles his nose. “Surely not a crush? That sounds so juvenile.”

Kylo grins. “Juvenile? Really?” He leans forwards, placing a hand on the empty drying machine behind Hux. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, so to say.

Hux’s cheeks heat, against all sense or reason. He raises a hand, placing it against Kylo’s chest.

“Oh?” Kylo says, raising a brow. He bounces a pec beneath his thin black tank top. “Do you perhaps have a crush on me too?”

“Don’t be presumptuous,” Hux barks out. His words have no bite, not with him sporting a full body blush. “I just found out that you aren’t, in fact, taken.”

“Oh but Hux,” Kylo says, doing some facsimile of Hux’s accent, “I’m quite taken with you.”

Their first kiss is more teeth than anything else, Hux biting at Kylo’s bottom lip, Kylo laughing into his mouth. Kylo’s hands trail from Hux’s face, down, down, until they wrap around Hux’s waist.

“You’re so… narrow,” Kylo says, between the gaps. “You fit so snuggly in my arms.” His nose brushes against Hux’s own, bumping into his cheek. “I imagined holding you like this before.”

“For how long?”

“Too long.” Kylo picks Hux up, wrapping strong arms beneath Hux’s thighs.

Hux yelps in surprise, wrapping his arms around Kylo’s shoulders. “Don’t drop me!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Kylo punctuates it with a wink. He places Hux atop one of the washing machines, big hands lingering on Hux’s thighs.

“Well,” Hux says, assessing Kylo. His dilated pupils. His short, quick breaths. A flush has spread across Kylo’s cheeks, to the tips of his ears. Already, his lips are kiss swollen. “What else do you have in mind?”

“Now you’re asking the right question.” Kylo’s fingers linger at the waistband of Hux’s sweatpants, a finger pulling the fabric away from his hips before letting go, letting the fabric snap back into place.

“Use your words,” chides Hux, staring down at Kylo through his lashes.

“I want to suck you off,” Kylo says, his fingers tightening around Hux’s thighs. Surely he’ll bruise later. He relishes the feeling.

“In the middle of the laundry?” Hux says, eyeing the open door from the corner of his eye. The recycling bins are full enough that their lids do not stay neatly on. Anyone could walk by. Anyone could see.

“You like it, don’t you?” Kylo croons. His breath is hot, warming his already heated flesh.

It’s then that his other drier goes off, high pitched whine breaking through whatever intimacy they’d built.

“My laundry,” Hux says, broken from his revery. “It’ll wrinkle.”

Kylo dares to pout. “But we were having so much fun,” he chooses to say, as if he were half his age.

Hux gets off of the washing machine, landing roughly on his feet. His knees aren’t as good as they used to be, it seems. “And we will,” he says. “But only after I finish folding everything.”

And if Kylo Ren chooses to help, finding Hux’s underwear and folding the brief much too slowly, then, well, it’s of no concern.


End file.
